


What happened to you?

by Meadowlarkwrites



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: (again), (demonsion?), (no thats a bad pun), Angst, Character Study, Headcanon, I'm meant to be working on finals, What happened in the other dimension, honestly if I don't graduate because I'm writing fanfic at midnight then so be it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2020-03-01 09:41:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18797800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meadowlarkwrites/pseuds/Meadowlarkwrites
Summary: Ford's hands are stained with blood, and he can't leave the memories behind when he comes through the portal. Character study.





	What happened to you?

Ford doesn’t even remember his first kill. 

His first months(years?) in the other dimension are a blur. He finds himself talking to himself, or to the memory of a brother likely dead. He does what he has to. His hands are stained with blood and he doesn’t know whether it’s his or the enemy’s. He doesn’t know who the enemy is.

Is he the enemy?

 

It hits him, once, as his modded blaster deconstructs a were-demon. He’s a murderer now, and even if he does find a way back, will he ever be able to go back? Can he wash his hands of their stains?

He doesn’t kill for weeks after that, instead locking himself in the pocket realm of one of his few allies. He perfects a stun gun, a net, and countless other non-lethal weapons. His haven is invaded, and when they break down the door, he picks up a wrench and brings it down on their heads. There’s no denying whose blood is wiped across his cheek, unless he’s started bleeding a thick purple.

 

He realises he’s one of the few who bleeds red. Blue, green, black, colours he can’t imagine, creatures who have no blood, beings who  _ are  _ blood, and no red until he slits the throat of a bandit looking to ambush him.

The bandit’s eyes are human. Ford closes them with two fingers.

 

“I’m sorry, Stan,” he says, irrationally, cradling the body of a traitor. Irrational because Stan hasn’t been there in years, and irrational because Stan would always understand. 

Everything he calls his own stinks of death. He loses the labcoat, the pictures in his pockets, the weapons he feels are too powerful. He regrets it years later, but the photos have long been eaten and the coat is in ruins when he does find it. If Ford has to kill, then it should be for a cause. No one should lose what he has lost.

 

He joins a war he doesn’t understand, fights along thirty foot monsters and four-eyed demons. He slaughters mercilessly, indiscriminately, following orders so he can blame their deaths on someone else. When he finally learns the language, he finds he’s been on the wrong side of the conflict the entire time. He kills the generals, burns them painfully and makes sure their souls roam powerless for eternity, and then skips to the next planet. 

The killing doesn’t stop. How can he bury their bodies? Should he bury himself?

 

The stars twinkle, beautiful for all that he knows they aren’t. He stares over a sea of broken promises and torn hopes. The wind beats his backside. Ford’s feet move before his mind.

A portal swirls before him. A mirror image of himself stares back a body to the voice he’s been speaking to for years. It’s chaos on the other side, hardly comparable to what lays behind him.  _ No _ , he thinks, because he can’t bring what’s behind him through the mirror. He has to save them. He steps through. 

 

...

 

It’s the way Ford doesn’t blink at roadkill that first hits Stan. He thinks he should’ve noticed sooner, but the Ford of his childhood would cry over each mangled body, sending a prayer to the god of the week for it. The stone statue next to him only continues to laugh along to something one of the kids said.

 

He finds the body of a gnome, a sad, crumpled little thing, with a bullet embedded in its side. It’s been fired from Ford’s gun.

 

“Don’t you care anymore?”

“You don’t understand! You could never understand!”

“Life is  _ important _ , even the evil little bastard gnomes!”

“He stole from me.”

“A pen, Ford. He stole a pen!”

“Crime should be punished.”

“Christ, what happened to you?”

Ford flinches. “I don’t know that word.” And he’s gone.

 

Ford isn’t home for Christmas.

 

“How many?”

“What?”

Stan leans in the doorframe of Ford’s lab, the twins back at home for the school year. “You know what I mean.”

Ford’s eyes flash with fear, and he focuses on his work. He pretends to focus on his work. “I don’t think that’s any of your business.”

“You don’t know, huh?” Stan steps towards him. “Twin telepathy. You can’t lie to your double.”

“Those days- it was necessary. It is necessary.”

“Ford, you’re safe now. You’re on Earth, and Bill isn’t, and you’re safe.”

“Bill has nothing to do with it!”

Stan is behind him. The  hair on Ford’s back stands up. “You can talk to me. I know I’m not a good listener, but-”

No, he’s not dealing with this. Stan’s hand lightly touches his shoulder, and Ford scrapes his chair back. “You don’t want to know. I’m better now. I have to be.” Ford promised himself, no killing if he got back, but there are exceptions to every rule, right? He repeats himself. “I have to be.”

“What happened?”

Would it be so bad?

No.

Would talking help?

Probably not.

Does he want to?

 

Yes.

It takes years, little by little, like water dripping out a faucet. Sometimes Ford says more, when they’ve both had a few drinks out on the boat, or the day after the kids’ graduation. Sometimes he can’t speak for days.

Sometimes he cries.

All the time, always, Stan is there, mumbling bullshit about twin telepathy, and “Kansas was worse than that. Jesus, did I ever tell ya about Kansas?”, and stories that are wildly exaggerated. 

Someday he’ll tell the kids, maybe. Or maybe he’ll write it all down in another journal and bury it and Dipper can dig it up when he’s long and dead. For now, that’s enough, and his smiles reach a little farther.

His hands are stained with blood, and there are some secrets he’ll take to the grave, but Ford has his family, and that’s what’s important. 

**Author's Note:**

> I wasn't gonna publish this but it's super late and my inhibitions are gone so have fun reading this word vomit!


End file.
